Oxygen
by BrittanyOXYMORON
Summary: From the first day she met him, she forever wondered why she needed him like oxygen... [DL][Oneshot]


**Warning:** Sexual situations (nothing too big) and angst.

My first attempt at any type of angst, it's a one-shot.

_Don't skip read, or you won't understand the ending._

**-----**

**Oxygen**

From the first day she met him, she forever wondered why she needed him like oxygen. Perhaps instead of oxygen, it was a drug. You yearn for drugs, but you need oxygen to survive. In that case, she needed him like oxygen. You breath everyday, and it's apart of life. You unconsciously breathe, and when you sleep what do you do?

Breathe.

His dark eyes switched from the spiraling staircase which seemed to go on into eternity to the women he had known so long before him. She was standing, defenseless in an awkward position. He doesn't understand the natural human need. His eyes scanned over the vulnerable brunette who was currently eyeing the ground, thumbs fiddling slowly together. Her eyes seemed heavy, and she had no wish to lift them, but knew she had to look him in his eyes. Quietly she shifted her weight to the other foot, trying to become more comfortable in this darkened dungeon-like room. The wooden floor made a small creek, but in the silence of this room it seemed like a nuclear bomb had exploded.

Dragging her amber eyes up slowly, captivated by his darkened clothing; their eyes met. It wasn't one of those moments where it matters to write a book on it, but it was important because it was the first time all evening they had held any sort of eye contact. The only thing she longed to do, was run into his arms and breathe him in.

Other then the creaking of the wooden floor which they had both become accustomed to, the only other noise was the light breaths both figures took while still maintaining their gaze. Neither had wanted to break it, but it had become too intense for the grown woman, and she didn't want to be analyzed. Her eyes would give herself away, and at this moment of everything, she couldn't afford to do that.

Her thumbs went back to fiddling with each other as hardly noticeable breezes of cooler air came by. It couldn't be any less than a couple degrees of the room temperature but in these moments of deep silence, it seems like so much more. She didn't want to make any sudden movements, in fear he would question her. Her eyes simply shifted, looking at her sides, but could barely see anything besides the shadowy figure at least ten feet away from her. It wasn't too dark because she could see his eyes, and a few of his features. His soft hand was resting on the spiral staircase railing, while she was just standing there.

After all, she had followed him here, but she needed more time to think. More time to answer his incoming interrogation. She knew she had been doomed when seeing the look on his face when showing up at the church. At first he hadn't recognized her; but soon realized exactly who she was. He naturally had a right to be curious but it wasn't in her best interest that he was. She tried to gather all her thoughts, and practice in her mind how to answer any questions before he spoke. Which she knew was coming eventually.

"Why are you here?" He demanded to know. The woman sighed before responding. She did indeed expect this question above all other things. That didn't mean she had a prepared answer though. She stumbled in her mind over words to use, or how to use them. It's been years, and first impressions are important. Clearing her voice quietly so he wouldn't hear or suspect anything, rubbing her all-black dress with her palms before they became too sweaty, she spoke.

"I heard about what happened," The woman said calmly, but nothing in the man's face changed, or showed any gratification. He hadn't moved, and she guessed she shouldn't either.

"I'm asking why you are at my home, not why you showed up earlier today," the man stated, and unclearly demanding an explanation. She wasn't sure how to satisfy him, so she took a few more moments to regain her thoughts in order. Legs were beginning to slightly shake from being so still, for too long, being too afraid to make any more movements.

"I followed you," She affirmed meeting his gaze again which had still been looking her in the eyes. The pools of brown got her so entangled in the midst of memory; she almost didn't catch the sudden assertiveness in his voice when he spoke louder next.

"No shit!" He firmly said, not at the yelling point yet. Even though it was only a little above our quiet whispers, it still shocked her to see him in this explosive matter. "I asked why," he added, in the same aggressive voice. At this moment, she realized that in the long run, she only wanted to help.

"I'm not really sure," the only reason this women answered this way was because of two facts. One being she couldn't think of any reasons to answer, because honestly she didn't even know herself why she had followed him to his house. And two, the look in his eyes showed much of an impatient look, demanding an answer. She felt helpless, and frankly; that was the only way to describe it.

"That's not a valid answer," the man declared, and she did acknowledge that. She knew that 'I don't know' or 'I'm not sure' are always invalid answers. Neither she, nor him had any ideas on what to say next, so they were back at square one, the staring, which she always backed out on. If he would look at her, he would see that she wasn't here because she simply heard about it, and pitied a friend. She truly did care. She needed him like oxygen.

"I wanted to see how you were," the woman finally said after a few moments of watching each other. Her eyes darted back to his, trying to read him. There was one lamp lit in this entire room. There were no windows, and the stone walls made everything more depressing. She had no idea what else she could possibly do.

"I'm just peachy," the man drawled, but making sure she realized the entire sarcasm of the comment. "How do you think I am?" He asked again, quite perturbed. She didn't comment, but only wanted him to say something else; switching the subject. As far as she could tell, that wasn't going to happen any time soon. It was more of a rhetorical question, therefore she didn't answer. She kept looking into his hard eyes. There must have been a look of defeat and sure pity on her face because the man softened his eyes and switched the subject.

"So you flew here to California all the way from New York, eh?" He asked, lightening the mood, but the women looked right past it. There was an empty, sorrowful look in his eyes. He looked exhausted.

"Yes," She simply answered. It really was all the way from New York. She was reading the newspaper, as she did every morning in her apartment while drinking a cup of coffee when she read what had happened. Sounds like your normal high fashioned woman in business, doesn't it? Truth behold, that's how she tried to live her life. Work every day, and lonely nights. Her friends who were close enough, always seemed busy- and after her past she decided men were a waste of time. All men, besides the one that stood before her.

"Very thoughtful of you, ya know?" He said. The women noted how his eyebrows raised while his face formed a frown, in an approving manor. She took a short careless breath in, before simply nodding her head in agreement.

"Do you have anywhere to stay?" He asked. She debated in her mind whether or not to say no, or yes. She could quickly get a hotel- but it would be the last time she would see this man. Her chance at anything at all, would be to say 'no, I don't' and there might be a chance he would invite her to stay. Even if it were only for one night, she could work up the courage to inform him of everything. Including the very way she felt.

"No, I don't. The hotel was booked, but I'm sure there's one across town," she lied, shaking a bit. Right through those pearly white teeth, she lied. She didn't know if he would believe her, which is why she added that there were hotels across town she could attend. Awaiting his response, the only feeling present was an overwhelming nervousness. His eyes disconnected from hers, looking to the ceiling as if thinking. She was begging with her eyes, but he didn't see her plea.

"I have an extra guest room a few doors down from my own, if you would like to stay this night," he offered. The women acted as if she were thinking, not wanting to sound too thrilled, even though her heart was jumping with joy.

"Sure, that would be nice," she said, making sure she didn't deny it. "Thank you," she added, waiting for him to move.

"Do you have any bags?" He asked, looking her up and down realizing she held nothing but a purse. The woman was almost embarrassed of the fact she had not brought anything. She didn't worry about all of that; she just wanted to make it here in California on time.

"No," she answered, her cheeks reddening. But the darkness and dreariness of the room blocked it. She could just sleep in her black dress; she had done it before on late nights in New York.

"You can borrow a shirt from me," he said, and she hadn't even thought about that. It makes it all the more better. The only thing on her mind was jumping in his arms but it was impossible. After moments of silence, once again, he finally began to walk up the spiral staircase. "I'll show you, it's getting late."

He walked a few steps ahead of her spiraling up the long stretch of stairs. She followed like a long lost puppy, with hungry eyes. She watched his legs, and his every move; not paying attention to her own. Almost tripping, she regained her posture and walked the last couple of stairs. The rooms up here had been lighter as there was one single window at the end of the long hallway. There were doors on either side, but the hallway was straight.

With the darkness, and single light coming from the window- it was such a surreal feeling. As if walking to your own death, leaving the darkened past behind. He stopped a moment, turning back towards her; checking to make sure she followed. Without a word, he turned his back on her and made his way toward a door on the left, about halfway down the hallway. She assumed this was her room, but she was wrong- it was his. Decorated in a dark blue, it seemed plain, almost lifeless. It was a simple bed, table, dresser- and another door leading to the master bathroom.

She then realized he had no pictures up, not of his family. Not of his father. When she saw this, she couldn't help herself but to feel sorry for the man.

"I'm sorry about your father," she said, and he stopped in his tracks. His head cocked to the side, before he turned his head, but not his full body.

"It's the vicious cycle, isn't it?" He asked over his shoulder, opening his drawers to fetch a long shirt. It took her a moment to register the meaning of what he said, but she couldn't help herself to ask.

"What do you mean?"

"You are born into this hell," he said, closing that drawer while opening the one below it, "and you try to survive, as best you can. Either making yourself to be someone important or being a loser," he shut this one, but it didn't seem to shut all the way. He wriggled the drawer around, until it closed fully, opening the last one under it. "Or you could be the person who lives a simple life being neither a loser- or someone worth living. You then have a child, bringing them into this hell; therefore the vicious cycle starts once again. You live your last days, knowing your time is up soon; and out of nowhere you die," He explained, but said it so flatly with no emotion, and it worried her.

"I guess I can see your logic," she noted. The man finally came across a long white t-shirt, bundled it up and tossed it to her. She caught it. It unraveled in her hands; but was plain with a simple pocket on the breast.

"My father knew he was going to die," he said, and it made my heart drop. "Which is the depressing part about it," he said, walking out of the room while the women followed. He lead her a couple doors towards the window, and to the right there was an oak door which was closed. She didn't say anymore, because she didn't know if she should comfort, or just leave it alone. This room was just as plain, while being decked out in a beige-peach color. There was a twin bed, and a dresser.

"The bathroom is the door across the hall," he informed her, but stood at the door, his shoulder pressed against it.

"Thanks," she mumbled, and placed the shirt on the bed, not wanting to change just yet. She turned back around, and before she knew it there was another small conversation starting.

"Thanks for coming to the funeral," he said, and she simply nodded. "But I have to ask why. It has been years since I have seen you- and out of nowhere you show up at my father's funeral all grown up," he said, with a small smile burning holes in her from her head to toe.

It was her chance now. All she had to say was 'because I need you like oxygen' and this burden would be off her chest. Except it wasn't that easy to admit to something like that. It wasn't a small immature childhood crush, it was so much more. It was a need, not a want, because without him she felt there was nothing else to live for. Even if it had been years, four to be exact; she thought about him every time she woke up; and every night before she fell asleep, alone in her apartment. His eyes didn't have the light to them as she remembered. He hadn't smirked all night, and had lost his touch.

The house resembled that, it was dark; and so was his heart. She hadn't heard of the famous movie producer's son getting married, or anything. The press had been all over Malcolm's son since he turned eighteen, which was the last time she saw him. He was a bachelor whom every woman in America wanted. But all pictures of him in magazines had been lifeless, and lonely. Now was her chance to say it, but her mouth wouldn't let her. What was there to lose? And after that thought hit her, she spoke.

"Because I need you like oxygen," she said loudly, almost regretting it- but there was nothing in the world to lose, besides him, and if she didn't say that she might have lost him forever. His eyebrows rose, and he looked confused. Her heart sank; realizing simple teenage love wouldn't last forever in him. It did for her certainly, but not for him. She looked away from his eyes which again he had been gazing in, and she rubbed her head. She didn't want to stay here anymore, she wanted to go back to New York and forget about everything. She wanted to go back to reading the newspaper every morning, and tabloids every night in search of this man.

She lifted her eyes and found his face the same as before, except in this moment- before she could even register what was happening, or going to happen he darted to her from across the room making their lips crash. Four years of pent up love was flowing out. She immediately kissed back as his arms were tightly around her. Her hands grasped his black dress shirt almost ripping it off there.

There was nothing sweet or slow about this. It was like a war. His kiss was rough, but passionate, and she equaled it out. Her lips felt swollen, but she wouldn't allow herself to break it, she wanted to hold it forever. Tongues battled, along with roaming hands, as she was now against the wall. His hands were pulling at her hair, trying to get as close as possible.

While kissing her, he lifted her up against the wall and she held onto his shoulders, while wrapping her legs around him. He walked his way out of the door, managing to knock her back into the wall a couple of times before reaching his room. She clawed at his dress shirt, and a few buttons broke. She didn't feel like unbuttoning it slowly, it took too much time, and there were a million buttons on that dress shirt. His hands were supporting her, and she opened her eyes for a moment, breaking the kiss. Before she did anything else, she wanted to at least get one look at this man.

As she kissed his cheek, she felt something wet on her lips. It tasted salty, and opening her eyes again, she realized there was a single tear on him. She couldn't tell if it was his, or her own. His eyes were hungry with want, while hers were full of need. He smashed his lips against hers again, while her hands found the collar of his unbuttoned shirt, fully prying it off.

Her dress was somehow unzipped, but still on as he threw her onto his bed. She tried to kick off her strapped heels, but it wasn't working until finally with enough pulling they hit the ground by his shirt and his own shoes. Her brown curls were spread across the bed, until they both took a moment to look at each other with red faces, their hair a mess, and breathing heavy.

It was then; she realized for the first time in her life, she was breathing in oxygen properly. But before her mind could relish the thought and the events occurring, his mouth was down on hers again.

**OOO**

The area around her was unfamiliar as she woke up. She thought a loud bang woke her up, but after she was fully conscious, it was silent. She couldn't tell if it was daytime or night time because there were no windows, only a clock which read '5:23'. She assumed it was AM, because there's no way she could sleep all day.

Things came rushing back to her head from the night before, but she realized no one was by her. The covers were pulled down, but he was gone.

This was his own house after all, so he had to be around somewhere. She carefully stood up and began her way out to the hall. As she opened the door a white piece of paper caught her eye lying on the floor in front of the bathroom. She picked it up, because from what she remembered it wasn't there the night before. It was neatly folded in half when she lifted it from the ground.

Silence filled the hallway, and the light from the window at the end of the hallway was barely enough to read it, but she managed. What was scribbled on this piece of paper, she will never forget no matter how long she lived.

_When I have received everything I hoped and lived for, why should I live on to another day when I know my time will be up soon?_

She could have died right there. She rushed to the bathroom where the light was on. She didn't want to enter, because she knew what would be inside. Tears began to roll down her cheek; four years of needing her oxygen she felt lifeless. How damn selfish of him! She got mad now, but still didn't open the door. She had to, but didn't want reality to settle in.

As she cracked open the door, she saw a lifeless man lying on the stone floor. There was a heavy and silver object in his hand; it was then reality set in and she found herself to be crying indeed. You could perhaps call it sobbing, because her breaths were loud and fast, coming in pants. A fresh pool of blood was forming around the man's head, and it was then she thought about the loud bang that woke her up.

She screamed into the emptiness of the house "WHY THE FUCK DID YOU DO THIS TO ME?!" But it didn't do any good, nor helped anything. What was done had already been done. Knowing that only minutes before, he had been alive was enough to make her fall to the ground immediately against the door. Praying to god for all this to be a dream.

The note in her hand dropped to the ground, and the scribbled words at the bottom caught her eye.

_You are my oxygen._

**XXX**

Tell me what you think, please? It was my first attempt, and depressing to write.

But I have always wanted to write a fan fiction like this.


End file.
